Isabella Petersen and the job that did not pay nearly enough
by bergamots
Summary: Isabella would love to say to General Hakuro that this was not what she had signed up for – but she had, and that was why she was hiding out in some bushes outside Colonel Mustang's apartment at 2:38 on a frigid September morning.


**_Isabella Petersen and the job that did not pay nearly enough but turned out alright in the end_**

 _This fic was written for_ _ **rosyoreo** on tumblr_ _for the fma secret santa! Happy holidays_ _ **rosyoreo**_ _! I hope you have a safe and relaxing holidays, and that 2k17 treats you well._

 _Hakuro as a character has always fascinated me, because to me he represented a large number of the military who were always hella pressed at Mustang for rising through the ranks so quickly. Like, this man is a Major General and he still has to bite his tongue because he's stationed at New Optain but Grumman is head honcho out at East HQ and Mustang is like his 6-year old kid who knows they are utterly loved and adored and won't ever be reprimanded for anything he does wrong haha. Like they aren't even in the same town but Hakuro still manages to be jealous and bitter about it? Petty goals right there._

 _Anyway, this story came about while I was re-reading the early chapters of Hagaren for secret santa inspo and it made me nostalgic for a lot of the 2006/2008-era fanfic where Hakuro was like public enemy number 1 when it came to Team Mustang. That was a fun trope! This fic has its roots in the manga canon, but Hakuro to me has a distinct '03 flavour. He was a bit more important there – not left out of the end-of-the-world plans like he was in the manga lmao this poor man he's so extra._

 ** _warnings_** _ **:** language _

* * *

It had been a rough week for Isabella Petersen. Her landlord had decided to hike up her rent by another three-thousand cenz a week; her cat had learned a new trick where she would run and vomit underneath the couch after gorging down her food; and her boyfriend had given her a call at two in the morning to say that 'we should take a break.' Isabella tried to ignore the obviously feminine voice cajoling him to 'hang up on the hussy.'

Maybe that was why she had been so quick to accept a meeting with Major General Hakuro in a seedy little bar in downtown East City. While her job at the Eastern Gazette wasn't that awful, Isabella was sick of being shunted down to advertising management and a terrible column titled _What I Heard in the Wind_ , where she literally had to go and eavesdrop on people and essentially shit out three hundred words every Monday morning that would keep their over-75's as loyal readers and subscribers. Apparently _real issues_ didn't matter so long as Doris got her weekly fix of barista gossip and mother-in-laws complaining about daughter-in-laws. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy hearing gossip, or even better – writing about said gossip, but Isabella was tired of being overlooked in favour of more senior members who had less to contribute than her vomiting cat. She had been with the Eastern Gazette for nearly three years now and was yet to be featured as a journalist – and it wasn't like the East was particularly strapped for news. Just last week a train had been hijacked from New Optain to East City and if rumours were to be believed, it was the East's very own 'Fullmetal Alchemist' who managed to subdue the terrorists and save everybody on board from a grisly fate.

Naturally, the military kept this all very hush-hush – after all, dissent from the people about the military wasn't a great way of inspiring faith in the military, and the East had always been a bit of a rogue district when compared to the likes of the West or Central itself. However, Isabella had a friend who worked at the train station, and if _he_ was to be believed (and he generally was, she went through school with the man), the Fullmetal Alchemist wasn't the only high-profile person on that train ride: Major General Hakuro and his family was reported to have as well (and he was the _entire reason_ why the train was hijacked in the first place, Jeremy said dramatically over coffee with her earlier in the week).

So it was a couple of reasons really, Isabella thought as she walked into the bar, taking off her coat and bee lining to the first empty booth she saw. It was a monumentally _awful_ week as far as weeks have gone, and there was the potential to put two and two together regarding the events at the East City train station. _This could be my big break_ , she thought, stuffing her gloves into her coat pocket and signalling the bartender. _Finally get noticed, and crack a story that nobody else in the papers has managed to do in a long while._

So here she sat, nursing what the bartender had described as ' the finest cure to a shit week' – she was fairly certain it was just two cheap whiskeys blended together with a mint sprig added to make it look like it was a legitimate drink – but no matter. The tip-off from Hakuro had been a blessing in disguise – often the Eastern Gazette and the military didn't get on – but hey, if the man said he'd pay for any of the drinks she ordered if she agreed to meet him in what Isabella was certain was not only a bar, but also worked as a brothel on the side, then she wasn't going to complain.

It was almost 10 o'clock before he walked into the bar, looking agitated and a little unkempt as he entered, shrugging off his heavy coat and talking to the bartender in low tones. The man motioned towards her and for the first time that night Isabella felt that it might be possible that she was making a mistake in agreeing so hastily to Hakuro's (almost barked) demand that someone from the Eastern Gazette meet him at the _Lady 8ight_ at nine the next night. But there was free alcohol, and after the week she'd had, Isabella just wanted to drown her sorrows until she couldn't remember that she had any to begin with.

Hakuro sat down opposite her in the booth she had sequestered, holding a drink that looked an awful lot like hers. "You're the one I spoke to yesterday?" he asked gruffly, a hard look on his face.

Isabella nodded, curling her fingers around her glass. "Yes, sir. You said you wanted a story written?"

Hakuro nodded shortly, before draining his glass in one mouthful and grimacing slightly. "Yeah – kind of. Not so much a story, as gathering information for me. If you find enough to make a story of it, then maybe you can do that too. You'll need to do your own research though – I don't particularly care how you do that, illegal or not."

Isabella pulled out a small notepad and pen from her bag and started taking notes. "What's it about?" she asked, noticing a bandage on his ear that was bleeding through slightly. Hakuro ran a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding hitting his ear. _Interesting_.

"How long have you been out here at East?" he asked, motioning for the barman's attention.

"I was born and raised here," she replied. "Does that matter?"

"It certainly helps matters," he muttered, as he handed the bartender a few folded bills and took the entire whiskey bottle from the man, who only responded by glancing to Isabella and sauntering back to behind the bar. "You know of Colonel Roy Mustang?"

"The…Flame Alchemist, right? Hero of Ishval?"

A sour look passed over Hakuro's face. "Yeah, that guy. I've gotten word that he's been abusing his position in the military. I need you to find out exactly what he's been doing and how he's been doing it."

Isabella looked up at the man, pen poised on her notepad. "What kind of abuses are we talking about here?" she asked, sitting up and leaning back into the booth. "They must be serious if it's come to your attention – you're not even stationed out here."

Hakuro crossed his arms, frowning at her. _Too insightful. Dial back a bit._ "Why does it matter? Details aren't important. You just need to find evidence that they're happening."

Isabella put her pen down and stared at the Major General. "The man is a legend around here, General. Which means you have got to have some pretty concrete suspicions, right?"

The man nodded, pouring himself another drink.

"So tell me what you know. I can't go in blind, General," she said easily, taking a sip of the frankly awful cure to a shit week. "Just nudge me in the right direction. Where or _who_ should I be looking for?"

Hakuro sighed and shrugged. "My…informants tell me it could be multiple things – he's in charge of the finances for the State Alchemist's out here at East so that could be one place to look – but to be honest with you, I don't think that's it."

Isabella took a few more notes. "Why don't you think so?"

Hakuro snorted. "The man is an alchemist – he could just transmute himself some gold and be done with it-"

"That's illegal though, isn't it?"

"They'll revoke your licence if they find you doing it," Hakuro replied, finishing his second glass of whiskey. "But it's the people around him I'm more worried about. He's in close with the Commander of East Headquaters and that certainly doesn't help matters – there are lots of things that don't go detected out here. I can probably grant you access to some personnel files without arousing too much suspicion but…"

"Who would I be looking for?" Isabella asked, flipping onto another page.

"His aide would be the best place to start – First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Served alongside him in the civil war so they're closer than most, but if the rumours are to be believed they knew each other before that, as well."

"I see," she replied. "Are they involved?"

Hakuro laughed a little bitterly. "That's the million cenz question, isn't it? If you can even prove just that – it'll be more than enough to bring any other relationships into question."

Isabella nodded slowly. "What would be enough to accuse him?"

The General poured himself a third drink, which he finished in quick succession before answering. The man had apparently had a worse week than she had.

"She's his aide, so it wouldn't be seen as uncommon or suspicious for them to be at each other's places," he began, rubbing behind his bandaged ear carefully. "Basically anything that goes against fraternisation rules – like certain information being shared between ranks, or him abusing his rank over her. But they are _good_. Nothing but consummate professionals." He stopped here, looking down at her with a hard gaze. "I can get you their addresses, but if I request what their current schedules are it will raise all sorts of alarm bells. You'll be on your own from there."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. On my own, can't let me be traced back to you," she responded, looking up from her note taking. "Find enough proof that's undeniable, don't get caught and get it back to you discreetly. I _have_ done this sort of thing before, General. It's why you guys don't like us at the _Gazette_ , remember?"

A strange look settled on the man's face. "You seem very sure of yourself," Hakuro replied finally, pouring another drink.

"No point in not being. This is my job," she said briskly, putting the cap back on her pen. "Before I go and start planning how to do this – what're you going to pay me?"

"Two hundred thousand cenz."

Isabella was glad she had finished her drink. "Two hundred thousand?" she managed; her mind running at full tilt with the amount of rent that _two hundred thousand motherfucking cenz_ would cover.

"You seem to think this will be an easy job, Ms…?"

"Petersen," she supplied automatically, trying to keep the shock from registering on her face.

"Ms Petersen. I can assure you it will _not_ be. You will not be paid until the end, when I am physically _holding_ the proof that proves this man is not all he's cracked up to be."

He was angry, Isabella noticed. It wasn't directed at her – but she could feel it simmering away underneath his words – a wrong word or even gesture here could easily take away _two hundred thousand motherfucking cenz,_ but Isabella was a reporter (and a damn good one, in her opinion). So the question came out of her mouth before she had properly considered her phrasing.

"Is any of this to do with the hostage situation a week ago?" she began, cocking her head at Hakuro. "I don't know all the details, obviously, but my mate works at the station as a ticket operator. He said you and your family were on that train that the terrorists attacked. Is that why your ear is bandaged up?"

Hakuro's face turned an ugly shade of puce, and Isabella saw his hands clench on the table top, knuckles white.

 _Well, that answers that question nicely._

Averting her eyes from the oncoming explosion, Isabella quickly got out of the booth, collecting her coat and bag swiftly. The man looked like he would combust at any second.

"If you could send me copies of the personnel files that would be wonderful," she began, shrugging on her coat, "and I'll send you an update by the end of this week how I'm going." She rummaged around in her bag for a moment, before presenting the General with her business card. There was an uneasy pause where she thought that this casual action would prove too much for the obviously furious General, but it passed and he accepted it with little more than a grunt in response. "If you need to call me, use that number. Any extra tips would be appreciated – or a warning, if you think someone is onto me."

The General grunted again, a clear dismissal.

"Pleasure doing business with you, General Hakuro," Isabella said warmly, walking away and pulling her gloves back on. "He's paying for my drinks," she mentioned to the bartender as she passed him.

" _Two hundred thousand motherfucking cenz_ – what has Mustang _done_ to be worth this much?" Isabella murmured to herself as she stepped out into the cold September air, shivering slightly. "Poor guy."

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed uneventfully – Hakuro, true to his word, had forwarded a box full of personnel files about the Colonel and the subordinates that Hakuro felt were closest to the man. The Fullmetal Alchemist was amongst them, Isabella noted with interest one night as she sifted through record upon record. The kid sure knew how to go through money. All State Alchemist's actually, if Fullmetal's and the Colonel's expenses were the norm for all – Isabella was certain that she had earned less at the _Gazette_ in three years than what Edward Elric had managed to spend in a single weekend.

However, in terms of actual _evidence_ , Isabella had yet to find anything suspect about any of the people Hakuro had supplied. Numbers matched up where they were meant to, and she could find very little on complaints made (especially regarding Colonel Mustang, the Fullmetal Alchemist on the other hand, had _many_ angry complaints from the public about 'damaged property' and 'he repaired what he broke but now it looks really ugly').

Though Hakuro hadn't been too annoyed last week when she gave him an update of the situation, a week had passed and she was nowhere closer to framing this guy for anything _remotely_ scandalous or even gossip-worthy and there was _two hundred thousand_ _motherfucking cenz_ on the line. Drastic measures had to be taken if she wanted to keep this job.

She slumped onto her couch next to her cat, grumpy and exhausted. Work hadn't been much fun either – Nicole from the entertainment section had been loudly talking about the recent _soirée_ that she had managed to get an invite to in the break room for the last 6 days straight and Isabella was going positively _batty_ with the constant shrill laughter and the never-ending stream of comments about how _wonderful_ it was of Mrs Blackwood to extend her an invitation. Nicole had even managed to slip her a snide comment – "I could see if I could get you an invite as well, Izzy; you could come with Will- oh, I forgot, you two aren't together anymore, are you? Oh well, I couldn't have you hanging on my arm all night."

Isabella hated the nickname. She hated William as well. Apparently his new relationship was going _very_ well.

Nothing was going very well for her at the moment, unless-

She sat up suddenly, fumbling through the mountains of paper that Hakuro had delivered to her desk at the _Gazette_. He had written down their addresses somewhere – why hadn't she thought of it sooner? Pictures spoke a thousand words, after all. Just a few photographs of the two and she could doctor the rest herself – a skill that she had picked up over the years. It might not be enough to indict the man, but it would be enough to have others – meaning people not based at Eastern City Command – to have suspicions and begin to investigate themselves. Hakuro had said, after all, that his informants felt there were multiple breaches of confidence happening – a catalyst at this stage was all she would need to meet his request.

Hakuro, she reasoned, wouldn't need to know that the images were doctored – nor would he care, she considered. He seemed like the sort of man where the ends justified the means when it came to his enemies.

It was settled. She would skip work and call in sick tomorrow – if she had to listen to Nicole bragging about the _haute couture_ dress she had acquired one more time she was going to stab something (or somebody). She'd pose as a young and naïve university student and see if she could manage an interview with the man himself, and follow him back to his house, hopefully with his aide in tow. She'd only need a few photographs of the two – if she managed one inside the house she could do wonderful things with it – and then it would simply be a matter of going to the _Gazette_ on the weekend and producing the photos and begin the doctoring process.

Isabella stood and stretched languidly. Hopefully by Saturday she'd have all the evidence that Hakuro required and then she would have _two hundred thousand motherfucking cenz_. This week was turning out to be alright.

* * *

As it turned out, posing as a young and naïve university student with a paper on alchemy didn't get you anywhere when it came to the military receptionists – but it was worth a shot anyway. She managed to find out where the car park was, so it was just a matter of waiting for the right head to be spotted in a car and she could be on her way. At least this gave Isabella a chance to people-watch – a favourite pastime of hers that had fallen to the wayside. You couldn't really eavesdrop on people and watch them at the same time – most people were quick to catch on.

It was nearing eight in the evening now, and Isabella was onto her fourth coffee, binoculars trained on the entrance of the car park. Almost everybody had gone home – by her counting, only five or six cars were left by this stage, but she had yet to see the Colonel leave. Did he normally work such long hours?

Isabella sighed, shifting in her seat, picking at the skin around her nails. It had been a gamble to come here today – but the receptionist had confirmed he was here – and she had wasted this much time on him already. "Might as well go the whole hog," she muttered under her breath, cricking her neck from side to side, sighing in pleasure as she felt and heard the joints _crack_ loudly. It was an ugly habit of hers but it certainly helped her look intimidating during high school. All the cool gangsters in the magazine serials all cracked their necks and knuckles before going in for the kill.

Hours passed, and Isabella dozed a little, eyes focused blearily on the part of the street lit up by the entrance to the car park. At this rate it looked like he was going to sleeping over at headquarters – could he even do that? It was a worrying thought but then-

A car suddenly pulled out from the entrance to the car park and Isabella struggled for a moment with her binoculars before focusing on the car, which was giving way to a pedestrian. It was definitely the Colonel, with the Lieutenant driving. _Bingo._

She started her car, waiting for them to get ahead to the lights before pulling out into the minimal traffic. It was nearly one in the morning, she realised as turned the radio off – what on earth were they doing to be going home at this hour?

 _Or maybe they fuck there after everybody else has gone home,_ she thought, trying to contain a snigger. _General Hakuro would certainly never be expecting that._

They seemed to be following the most direct route to his house, Isabella noted. She could probably afford to lose them for a minute and come up a side street and wait for them to pass – a parked car would look far less suspicious than a moving one.

She was correct in her assumptions – her shortcut allowed her to start walking to the park that was next to his apartment building, and she had a nice view of this building's car park too – she would just need to wait for the next window to be lit up and she could settle in for some good old-fashioned investigating. She had brought a thermos of coffee as well – though she was beginning to feel the need to pee. She could pee in a bush here. It wouldn't be the worst thing she was doing that night.

Isabella flattened herself against one of the trees in the park as car lights shone across the ground. With luck, this would be the Colonel. Voices floated out across the park – from what she could gather – it was them. The car wasn't leaving, and Lieutenant Hawkeye didn't live within walking distance of Colonel Mustang's apartment which meant-

Oh, she had _definitely_ hit the jackpot tonight.

* * *

Isabella would love to say to General Hakuro that this was not what she had signed up for – but she had, and that was why she was hiding out in some bushes outside Colonel Mustang's apartment at 2:38 on a frigid September morning.

She had managed to get a couple of photos of the two walking from the car park to the front of his building – it wasn't her best work, but in her defence it wasn't like she got the opportunity much these days: eavesdropping was definitely becoming her specialty now. But apart from those photos, nothing else had happened. Multiple apartments had lit up but nobody had gone near the windows, and by now Isabella was beginning to lose the feeling in her fingers. She was cold, and tired, and hungry and-

"Can I help you?" a male asked from behind her. She twisted suddenly, and found herself face-to-face with none other than Colonel Roy Mustang himself. She gaped for a second, before coughing and standing up. _Say something say something saysomethingsaysomething-_

"Shit, man! I thought you were my perp!"

Mustang looked confused. "Perp?"

Isabella stuck out her hand as a way of greeting. He accepted it, albeit warily. "I've been employed to investigate a man who lives in this apartment block – his fiancée thinks that he's cheating on her – she's right." Isabella said briskly. "I'm a private detective."

"That explains the camera then."

She nodded. "Yeah, though I haven't had much luck tonight. Do you live in this building? I- I didn't mean to scare you. Obviously I'm not doing a great job of hiding if you saw me," she admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. Mustang laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"You might want to work on that," he replied kindly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "But, uh, I'm not here to critique your investigating skills. I was just wondering if you wanted to come up for a cup of tea or coffee? You must be freezing out here."

 _You must be kidding me_. "I- I wouldn't say no to a coffee right now," Isabella answered, biting the inside of her cheek. _This is not happening right now._ "I don't want to be a bother though," she added quickly.

Mustang shook his head. "Nonsense – I'm up anyway. Some company would be nice – and this park isn't the safest place after dark. C'mon," he gestured towards to the apartment block and she nodded, picking up her bag and followed him.

"I didn't catch your name," Mustang said as he held open the door to the apartment building.

"Isabella Petersen," she replied easily. If she had learnt anything about snooping about, the less lying you did made the job a million times easier. Lies were hard to make convincing – but the truth was much easier to manipulate – and a fake name was the first mistake many rookies made. A mistake she had made a long time ago.

"Lovely to meet you, Isabella Peterson," Mustang said warmly, climbing the stairs two at a time. "I'm Roy Mustang, perpetual insomniac."

Isabella copied his gait with a little difficulty. "Your name's familiar," she commented. "Should I know you from somewhere?"

Mustang laughed a little awkwardly. "I'm a…state alchemist," he explained, turning onto the second flight of stairs. "I work at Eastern Headquarters."

"Is insomnia a side effect of being a state alchemist?" she quipped. They had slowed to a stop on the second floor in front of an unassuming brown door. He rummaged around in his jacket pocket for a key, before looking back at her.

"I never thought about it that way," he replied thoughtfully, fighting with the lock for a moment before it gave way. "It'll definitely be a contributing factor."

"What's a contributing factor?" a feminine voice asked from inside the apartment. Mustang gestured inside and Isabella hesitated for a second, before passing over the threshold. His apartment was rather sparse for the amount of money he had available at his disposal, she though critically, noticing First Lieutenant Hawkeye curled up on the couch surrounded by several boxes worth of paper. She had changed out of her uniform, Isabella realised.

"Me being a 'dog of the military' might be related to my insomnia, Riza," Mustang answered behind her, shrugging of his coat and hanging it up next to the closed door. "This is Isabella Petersen," he said over his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchenette. "She's joining us for a cup of tea."

Hawkeye winked at her. "I was the one who spotted you," she admitted, shifting on the couch slightly. "Your lens was reflecting against the light."

"Oh," Isabella replied, a little awkwardly. "I didn't mean to scare you or anything." Hawkeye laughed, her smile reaching from ear to ear.

"Believe me when I say I have faced far worse than a camera," she confided. "But that park can be really dangerous at night – we really don't want to have to investigate a murder in our own backyard." She gestured to the single-seater opposite her. "Take a seat. Roy makes good tea."

"Do you have milk or sugar?" Mustang called from the kitchenette.

"Both please," Isabella replied, placing her backpack at her feet. Mustang came out of the kitchenette holding two steaming mugs. Giving one to her, he turned to where Hawkeye was on the couch.

"Can I not sit down?" he asked. Hawkeye rolled her eyes before shifting a box onto the ground, muttering under her breath. Mustang ignored this, sitting down next to her and passing her the other mug before clasping his hands together and looked directly at Isabella.

"So, Ms Petersen," he began, his gaze steady, "why don't you tell me why you've been following and photographing us?"

There was a beat before Isabella registered the question.

 _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu-_

"I…haven't," she answered warily, eyes darting between the two of them. Hawkeye seemed completely disinterested in the conversation, sipping on her tea and reading papers.

Mustang snorted harshly. "Nice try. I do read the Eastern Gazette though – _What I Heard in the Wind_ is one of the highlights, really, compared to the rest of the drivel coming out of that rag. But that's not why I brought you up here. Why have you been following us?"

Her heart was beating at a mile a minute and it was difficult to concentrate – had Hakuro set her up? Mustang read her column? _Mustang_ read her column?

 _I'm fucked._

"I'm writing a story," she said finally, her shoulders slumping. "About State Alchemist's. Whether they're necessary in today's political climate. It wasn't anything personal – just business."

Mustang leaned back into the couch, regarding her cautiously. Hawkeye hadn't reacted to the confession: she was still reading files with no indication whatsoever that something momentous had just occurred.

"Forgive me if I don't take what you say at face value," Mustang replied, folding his arms over his chest. "But you wouldn't need photos for a story, would you, Ms Petersen? You're a writer, not a photographer."

Isabella chewed on her lip, meeting his stony gaze. He wasn't angry – and an angry Mustang was something she dearly wished she would never have to see. She had heard the rumours of what his alchemy could do. He was annoyed, more than anything – and tired. The bags under his eyes had a faint purple tinge to them, and all his movements seemed to suggest weariness.

Silence hung between them. Hawkeye opened up another file and kept reading.

"Tell you what," said Mustang carefully, leaning forward and trying his best to supress a yawn. "I will tell you what I'm going to do if you don't tell me the truth, and then you can decide what to do from there."

She stared at him, biting on her tongue.

"Well, first of all, you're going to be arrested right here and now because I can do that, and then I'll get a warrant to search both your home and the offices of the Eastern Gazette – and would you believe that I can also sign for those warrants too? Then it's simply a matter of finding enough evidence against the military to get you charged with treason-"

"Don't forget that all her co-workers might as well." Hawkeye mentioned, finally looking up from her file and glancing at Mustang. "They will also be investigated. The Eastern Gazette would be done and dusted before the month is out." She looked at Isabella. "All because of you."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Major General Hakuro paid me to try and discredit you," she finally said, squeezing her eyes shut. _Goodbye cenz. Goodbye credibility. Goodbye job offers._

"How much?"

Isabella looked up. Mustang had gotten up and walked down the hallway next to the kitchenette, his hands on his face. Hawkeye looked at her pointedly.

"Two hundred thousand cenz."

If she was shocked, Hawkeye did a very good job of hiding it. "Do you know what he was going to do with the information?"

"Take it to someone who could use it, I imagine. He wasn't fond of Eastern Command."

"He wouldn't be," Hawkeye muttered under her breath, shifting files off her lap. There was an uneasy silence as the older woman regarded her coolly. "Why did you say yes?"

"What?"

Hawkeye shrugged. "Two hundred thousand cenz in the scheme of things isn't a lot when you're talking about military brass. What was in it for you?"

"Money," replied Isabella angrily. "It might come as a surprise to you, but not everybody gets a cushy salary. Even a hundred thousand would be more than enough to help people like me survive a little easier."

"No ulterior motives?"

"Sometimes reasons are simple."

Something flitted over Hawkeye's face, before she stood up and poked her head down the hallway. "I've got an idea Roy," she called out, before placing her mug on the kitchen bench and walked back to the lounge suite, shifting the remaining paperwork back into an open box. It was a few minutes before Mustang returned, looking even wearier than had had before. He all but flung himself onto the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Hakuro is going to be out for blood once he finds out. She won't be safe." Hawkeye answered quietly, placing the lid on the last of the boxes.

"That matters?" he asked. Isabella winced at the unconcerned tone.

"It could," Hawkeye pointed out, kneeling beside the man. "Madame Christmas mentioned she was looking for new girls. Hakuro won't be able to touch her there."

"Why should I care about some bitch who tried to sell me out?"

"Because she's got enough brains to lie well enough under pressure. Because she's in way out of her depth. Because if you don't help her the General will keep trying to discredit you."

Mustang huffed, shifting on the couch so he could look at his aide. "What would you have me do?"

Hawkeye glanced back at where Isabella was sitting, fingers curling around the mug of now-cold tea. "I would protect her," she began slowly, brushing his hair out of his eyes very carefully. "The General has more influence than you think. He could make things difficult for all of us-"

"And once girl will stop that?" he asked harshly. Hawkeye nodded.

"The General won't protect her – it's why he chose her. She's disposable, easy to silence. Make sure he cannot do that." She rose from kneeling beside him, her hand brushing his for barely a second before she walked down the dim hallway, undoing her hairclip and vanishing behind a door.

Isabella glanced at Mustang. He was staring at her, a calculating look on his face.

"C'mon," he said suddenly, all but leaping from the couch and heading for the front door, grabbing his coat. "We're going to the bank."

* * *

 _ **Today's Politics with Lizzy Peters, Central Times, 14**_ _ **th**_ _ **of November, 1914.**_

 _Since arriving in Central, dear readers, I have discovered two things – you all have an obsession with tea, and everyone makes fun of me for being from East City. You should all visit there sometime: the sun would do some good for your dour personalities!_

 _But I am not here to convince you to have a holiday out East (though you should really consider it!) My job is to tell you all about the issues being discussed by our senate, by the different council's here in the Central district. However, today is a little different. I was reminded recently of why I chose to become a journalist, instead of an author or tutor, or a zoo keeper (my childhood dream). I chose to become a journalist because I wanted to help people – where I grew up, there were a few military officials who would be bribed and offer bribes, without considering the very people who they were entrusted to protect. My village suffered because of their greed, because of their callousness. It was the local paper who brought the evidence of their deception and dishonesty to light and ensured that these people paid for their crimes. These journalists, who were putting their very lives on the line to protect us, did not care that they could get arrested for treason. They did it because it was the right thing to do._

 _It was these few brave souls who have inspired me ever since._

 _And so, today, dear readers, it is now my turn to inspire, it is my turn to be brave and suffer the consequences as they come. There is an issue I must bring to your attention. It is an issue that is near and dear to my heart – an issue I'm sure you can all understand. That issue is the rampant corruption in our military. Many of you have written in to tell me of the injustices you have faced at the hands of those who swear to serve us. '_ _What can I, a single person do_ _?' so many of you ask. Week after week I read the incidents that have occurred and it pulls at my heart. One person can only do so much, after all._

 _I have found in my time here at the Central Times that many of you accept your rights as you are told them. From now on, this column will be dedicated to ensuring that every person who reads this paper will understand exactly how the military works in our great country – as well as what your rights are when you feel that they have not done their best to serve you. The military as an idea is not corrupt – but there are those inside who are. Together, we need to expose their lies. Together, we as a people can protect those who cannot protect themselves._

 _I look forward to serving you as best I can._

 _With all my love,_

 _Lizzy Peters_

* * *

' _ **Well-known' soldier denies embezzling state funds, by Lizzy Peters, Central Times, 11**_ _ **th**_ _ **of January, 1915.**_

 _A soldier stationed at New Optain has pleaded not guilty to embezzling more than 800,000 cenz in civilian funding, the Eastern District court heard today._

 _Name suppression has been granted for the interim, as the soldier, who was 'well-known' in the district, when they appeared at the district court this Thursday._

 _Not guilty pleas were entered to the charge of stealing money and they were remanded on bail to reappear for a case review in March._

 _Court documents alleged the offending took place between the winter of 1912 and summer of 1915._

 _A spokesperson for the New Optain branch said the soldier had worked for the military for over four decades._

 _The alleged theft was "devastating for the morale of his subordinates," she said._

* * *

"Did you know anything about this?" Riza asked, as she shrugged on a spare shirt that she found on the ground. She motioned to the newspaper on the bed. Roy groaned and rolled over in the bed, scrubbing at his eyes and blearily looking at the headline.

"Well-known…" he mumbled, tracing his fingers over the ink. "There must've been enough evidence if it's gone to court."

Riza sat down next to him in the light that was filtering through his curtains, kissing his cheek lightly. "The real question was whether it existed before or after his little meltdown at the Gazette," she said quietly, leaning her head in the crook of his shoulder.

Roy made a noise of agreement, before throwing the newspaper off the bed and curling his arms tightly around her waist.

"Doesn't matter," he murmured between languid kisses. "It'll keep him busy."


End file.
